Storiesonline.net ------- Schlong by Old Fart Copyright© 2006 by Old Fart ------- Description: Mark Hawthorne is over-endowed. This is his story. Codes: teen mastrb size ------- ------- Chapter 1 What old Will Shakespeare was trying to say is that it's the properties of something rather than it's title that is important. Since the character of a rose is it's smell, a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet. Lynyrd Skynyrd reflected a different viewpoint. The man who would be there one minute and gone the next was called The Breeze. The property, the character; these determined the name. Like Red, Tiny, Shorty, many names we are called reflect the most noticeable thing about us. But these are nothing like the one that draws the women and, on occasion, men to me, like a moth to a flame, like a bee to honey, and some would say like a fly to shit. They call me Schlong. I've had other sort-lived nicknames, all having something to do with my over-developed organ. I've been called the Beaver Cleaver, Moby Dick, the Big Kahuna, Cunt Stretcher, Chunky Monkey, and the Battering Ram, to name a few. When it's revealed for the first time to a woman, Oh My God, Oh Shit and Oh Fuck are common, though these are more opinions than descriptions. But Schlong is the one that's always stuck. I got it in the first week of junior high, when we took showers in PE. There was a big fat kid named Weinstein already showering off when I walked in, taking the towel I had around my waist off and laying it on the tiled wall. Weinstein's one claim to fame is that day when he took one look at me and said, "Fuck, look at that schlong." By the second week of school, I heard the name Schlong more than I heard my own, Mark Hawthorne. By the end of that week, I had a waiting list of girls who wanted to find out more about the schlong. It bothered me that they were interested in me because of a part of my anatomy rather than my mind and who I was, deep down inside. For about as long as it took me to blink. Back then, it was a mere 8" long. Since, it's almost doubled in size, extending a good two fingers past the end of a ruler. Not quite as big around as my wrist, but not far enough from it to quibble, though. By the time I thought of keeping track of the women I'd had, there were too many to figure out. You know that story of the New York cabby who takes a woman to her destination and turns around after he pulls up to the curb? She's sitting in the back seat with her legs spread and says "How about taking it out in trade?" And he looks between her legs and whines, "Lady, ain't you got anything smaller?" A lot of woman have had that said about them after I was done with them. ------- Chapter 2 Betsy Lou Krupke was as close to the girl next door as I had. She spent the first few years of her life in Wisconsin and had that healthy, farm girl look about her, blond pigtails, freckles and all. She was a twenty year younger version of her mother, albeit over 70 pounds lighter, and without her mother's trademark blue gingham dress, similar to what Dorothy wore in The Wizard of Oz. Her father was a cop — Officer Krupke. He was just as gullible as his namesake from West Side Story, but nothing like him in looks. He must have weighed in at 250, most of it muscle. Kind of off-blond hair, impossible to comb into anything that would stay put for more than a minute or two. I remember the blond hair on his arms was thick like fur, but almost invisible. When Weinstein made his declaration that resulted in my nickname and reputation, I was a rather unremarkable junior high kid. I'd turned 12 over the summer and hadn't started my growth spurt yet. Yeah, yeah, my schlong was massive, but other than that I was a typical seventh grader. I doubt I was 85 pounds soaking wet and hadn't come close to five feet yet. There was one kid in our class who could probably have played lineman on the freshman high school team; he's the one you'd expect to be over-developed. His equipment looked like he'd been on steroids for years. The point I'm making is that my size came as a surprise to all who saw it. It was kind of a backwards surprise to me, as well. Until I got into an environment where other kids my age were baring their all, I assumed there wasn't anything special about me. I was the size I was; no big deal. I'd been playing with myself since late in the fourth grade. I discovered the drawer where my father hid his Playboys, and for some reason, it just seemed natural to put one hand all the way in my pocket for a bit, then pull down my shorts or unzip my pants and massage myself while looking at the pictures and the cartoons. Not that I understood many of the cartoons, but the drawing was good. Real good. It was sometime in that summer when I had the latest centerfold spread out on Mom and Dad's bed. He was at work and I think she'd gone to the Food Basket with Mrs. Fish to do her weekly shopping. We were a one car family back then, and Mrs. Fish drove Mom to the store once a week. Anyway, I had my play toy out and was fascinated with the picture. She had read hair, done up in a loose pony tail, you know, sort of tied with a rubber band or something but the hair kind of fluffed out behind her head. It wasn't a full on back shot, kind of a three quarter shot. Her butt was superb. Round and firm, making me fantasize about holding it in my hand. I had no concept of doing anything else other than feeling it in the meat of my hand. She was kind of turned around so you could see the pony tail from the side, kind of out from her head near the top. She had a smile on her face that told me she was happy I was looking at her. Because of the way she was turned, there was only one tit in the picture. Hell, she could have had the left one amputated for all I know. But the right one was magnificent. You've heard it said that more than a handful is a waste? It would have been for her. It was conical, kind of a round pyramid, a curve from the bottom to the pointed center that would be impossible for the finest draftsman to duplicate. Her nipple stood out proudly, and I can see it today in my mind's eye. It was naturally protruding; it hadn't been stimulated to be larger than normal. I saw that marvelous mammary and my initial thought was to take it in my mouth. This was a new and foreign concept, yet somehow I knew that was what we'd both want more than anything if she was able to step out from that page. Of course, my hand would be holding that glorious butt while I held her breast between my lips and teased that nipple with my tongue. It was at that instant, when I formed that picture in my mind of her tit in my mouth and her ass in my hand, that I had my first orgasm. My hips started to thrust all by themselves and I thought I was ill. There was a kid who went to the Special Ed trailer at school who had some kind of palsy and walked around with these big metal crutches with cuffs that went around his arms, and he'd kind of jerk one leg and crutch forward, swing his body around and do the same with the others. Nobody said it to his face, but everyone called him Spaz. When I got that picture of Surrey's tit in my mouth and started to jerk, I swear to God, I thought I'd come down with whatever it was that Spaz had. And then when I saw the liquid come out of the end while it was shaking like it was trying to jump out of my hand, my first thought was that somehow I was puking my guts out from my prick. Five minutes later when my breathing had come down to normal and my prick was more its normal size, I took a look at what I'd done. There was this slimy liquid, partly clear and partly milky, differing in consistency, part watery, part almost mucous, puddled on the centerfold and my parents' bedspread, soaking into both of them. I'd been sneaking looks at my father's stash for months and had always taken care to note how they were stacked, which ones were in what order, which edge was offset from the one below it, in which direction and by how much. I had it down to a science. You could take a picture of the open drawer before I touched it and another after I put everything back, and the two would look identical. So, as far as I knew, they had no idea I was using Dad's middle drawer as my private library. I knew that if I put that magazine back the way it was and the centerfold was glued together with my juice when Dad went to look at it, heads would roll. Well, my head, at least. So, I got a washcloth and got it wet and used it to clean off the magazine and bedspread as much as possible. I kept the magazine open as long as I dared, fanning it with a hand-held, genuine Spanish fan from Spain that my mother had brought home from somewhere. When I figured Mom would walk in the door at any moment, I carefully folded it back up and put the magazine back where I'd gotten it. The next time I checked it out, that page looked like it had been bleached out in a couple of quasi-circular spots and was a little wrinkled. Nothing was ever said about the magazine, but my father did pull me into his room a couple of Saturdays later, close the door, and proceed to tell me some convoluted story about nests and pollen and how I should treat women right and watch out for diseases. I nodded my head or smiled where I thought it was appropriate, he patted me on the back and opened the door. I lay down on my bed wondering what the hell he'd been talking about and promptly forgot it. After that, I was in their room, checking out the Playboys every chance I got. I'd figured out I wasn't vomiting out of my cock or coming down with palsy and that I loved the feeling I got just before my body started shaking and I spit out that fluid. And I always had a dry washcloth with me and erupted into it when the time came. So, I'd been making myself come for more than a couple of years when Weinstein unknowingly gave me my new nickname. My fantasies weren't quite as nebulous as that first one had been, but they all centered around the women in those magazines. My immature mind hadn't tied the concept of a model in the magazine and the pleasure I felt when I played with myself and the girls and women from the real world together. I got off almost daily, either looking at the actual magazines or with memories of the pictures in them, but I never made the connection with live females. I'd long since outgrown the cooties and "women are yucky" phase, but had no sexual thoughts about any of the girls around me. Which brings us back to Betsy Lou. She lived three houses down from me and was two months younger than I. It was only natural that we'd walk to school together, and we had, from the second day after her family moved there when we were in the second grade. Come to think of it, I never went through that weird boy/girl thing with Betsy Lou. She was a girl, of course, but as far as our relationship was concerned, she could have been sexless. She was just Betsy Lou, the kid who lived down the street. We played together, we'd seen each other pee plenty of times when we were out riding and didn't want to go all the home, we'd gone skinny dipping; there were times we played with my army men and times we played with her Barbie dolls. We knew we were built differently and had some curiosity about it, but didn't make a big deal about it. It was the summer before junior high when she started to change. All of a sudden she was taller than I was and her shirts started sticking out a bit up top. I remember complaining to her one time because she had these tight shorts on and you could see her butt crack. It seemed wrong to me somehow but she seemed to brighten up when I commented on it, and wore them almost constantly for the rest of the summer. That summer, Betsy Lou was a smaller version of that centerfold who started it all, and it went right over my head. It never occurred to me that there was a butt I could hold in my hands and two tits I could take in my mouth just two front yards to the right of me. We spent a lot of time together, doing the things we'd always done. She acted differently somehow, as if she was waiting for something. It didn't faze me, I was a typical male - clueless. ------- Chapter 3 It was the day after Labor Day and Betsy Lou wasn't ready when I stopped off at her house on the way to school. Mrs. Krupke invited me in for a glass of Quick, but I was anxious to get going to my first day of junior high. Actually, I was both anxious and nervous, but I still wanted to get there as soon as possible. "You haven't hit your growth spurt yet, Mark." "No, Ma'am," I squeaked. My voice was starting to go through it's indecision of whether it was going to stay soprano or change to tenor or even bass. "Well, Betsy Lou has certainly sprouted over the summer." "Uh, huh." "She's turning into quite a young woman." I was saved the embarrassment of having to come up with an appropriate answer when Betsy Lou came out the front door. She kissed her mother on the cheek. "Bye, Mom. Come on, Mark. Don't want to be late." Betsy Lou had on a white button-up blouse and a red plaid skirt. The skirt came down to about the middle of her thighs. I noticed that the back of it was sticking out a lot more than her skirts had the last time we walked to school. There were two distinct bumps on the front of the blouse, too. I noticed some other things, too. She seemed to be walking a lot closer to me than she usually did. And she'd touch me a lot when she talked to me. It didn't gross me out or anything, in fact I kind of liked it. But it was something she'd never done before. I could smell her hair a couple of times when she got near me. That was new to me too. The concept that hair had a smell was something I'd never considered. It wasn't the shampoo she was wearing, though that definitely contributed to it. It was a combination of her and the shampoo. But mostly her. I've smelled a lot of women's hair since that day, but none of them smelled quite like Betsy Lou. And nobody ever smelled as good. The other thing I noticed was that my dick was starting to get hard and it was a little tough to walk. I immediately started planning how to get may hands on a Playboy or two after school to handle it. It never occurred to me that the reason for the sudden growth was walking a foot and a half to the left of me. Betsy Lou got quiet all of a sudden, and her eyes seemed riveted on my front. I had to grab her by the arm and pull her into me when she was all set to walk right into a fire hydrant. She looked a feverish, plus she was spaced out, the way my dad gets sometimes when he's watching a ball game on TV and my mother wants him to do something around the house and she has to yell at him to get his attention. "Are you OK, Betsy Lou?" "Huh? Yeah. I... uh... I had my attention on something." "OK. Well, watch where you're going." She paid more attention to where she was going but she still looked like she had something on her mind. Like I said earlier, I never gave the size of my wang a second thought. It was what it was. The same's true about when it got hard. At that point in my life, that just got me figuring out how to get some alone time with my hand, ideally with a Playboy nearby. Soon, I'd come up with some other ways of taking care of it, but that was in the future. It never embarrassed me to be hard. It was just something that happened. So, if I got a hard on, I just put my attention on how I was going to walk with the stupid thing in my way, while planning on taking care of it later. I never thought about covering it up. I think I heard people making fun of others who were excited once in a while. I'd hear the giggling and the comments but never thought about checking out the crotch of the guy being talked about. Later on, when people would notice and comment on me, it wasn't joking so much as a sense of awe. Which is probably what was going on when Betsy Lou almost walked into that fire hydrant, though I was too naïve to realize it at the time. We got to school and things went fine. We both had a list of classes, a couple of which we shared, most of which we got lost trying to find. The first day was mostly getting seats assigned and going over what was expected in each of our classes. I had a couple of teachers give me stuff to read for the next day. It was a lot different from elementary school. I had lunch with Betsy Lou. We just talked about what had gone on in our classes, sharing our opinions of Mr. Hendrix, the science teacher. Science was the one class we shared before lunch. She started out talking about how dreamy she thought he was. I didn't have much of an opinion of him, but I sure didn't think he was dreamy. She kind of moved away from that subject, so I guess I must have made a face or something. Fourth period was gym class. About half the kids didn't have gym clothes and got chewed out by the coach. He was the same guy I had for World History. Anyway, I was one of the guys who had gym clothes because my mom had gotten a letter and taken me down to Hardwick's to get my Smithtown Jr Hi gray gym shorts and tee shirt. I already had the white socks and the sneakers. The one thing I didn't have was the jock strap. Now, that was embarrassing. What's the sense in going into that little room with the curtain if you have to come out and show your mother how it fits, turning around and showing your butt to everyone in the store? Mom gulped when I came out and told me everything looked fine and I could go put on the shorts. One thing I didn't get was why such a big deal was made about changing my underpants every day yet I could wear the same jock strap five days a week for gym class and nothing was ever said about it. Maybe Mom thought I'd fart in the underpants but that wouldn't matter with the jock strap because it was open in the back. Things got quiet in our row of lockers when I changed into my gym clothes and there were a few guys who had lockers in the next row hanging around when I changed out of them, but I didn't think anything of it. We hadn't done anything to work up a sweat, so I didn't need to take a shower. Fifth period was Spanish, which sucked. We went around the room, telling Senora Lopez our names and she would translate them to the name we would be called in her class for the rest of the year — "Ola, Marcos." She was from some Spanish country down in South America and told us her father was in a band and played a gitter. Whatever that is. Betsy Lou sat next to me in sixth period English. My teacher was Miss Hulbertson, and I think she had the attention of every guy in the class. I don't think any of them could have repeated anything she talked about, though. Miss Hulbertson had to be the prettiest teacher in the school. I spent most of the class thinking about getting home and spending some private time with my hand and my favorite toy. We had those desks that were like a chair with a lid on it. You sat in the chair and the desk part was over your lap, a little higher than your stomach and lower than your chest. Betsy Lou kept looking under my desk until I finally asked her what was wrong. She said she felt a little hot. I don't know why she had to keep bending down and looking over at me, but she did look kind of flushed. Miss Hulbertson gave us an assignment to write two pages on whatever we wanted. One of the girls in the class asked if she could write what she did on her summer vacation and Miss H. told her she hoped she'd be more inventive than that. I'd written things before, in fact I had to do five pages on my favorite person from history and I got a B+ on it. But writing about whatever I felt like was something new. What the heck do you pick? And what if she doesn't like what you picked? That was one of the toughest homework assignments I ever had. The lockers had been assigned first thing in the morning and Betsy Lou and I were pretty close to each other, maybe 15 lockers between us. After English, she walked with me, left me at mine and went on the hers. When I was done, I walked over to hers and we left for home. There was a group of four or five girls standing next to the gate where we went out to the street. They were whispering to each other and a couple of them giggled. Two of them pointed in my direction. Betsy Lou acted like someone had said something she didn't like, like calling her a twerp or something. She grabbed my arm with both hands and kind of smooshed into me and rushed me through the gate. Weird. When she let me go, I took a closer look at her. She still must have been hot, because she still looked flushed and she'd opened a couple of buttons on her shirt. She was wearing something under it. I could tell it was white and there was a small bow in the middle of it. "Your shirt's open." "Oh." She buttoned it back up. Things settled down in my pants a bit on the way home, but I still wanted to get home by myself. Mrs. Krupke called me over when Betsy Lou started up the walkway, so there wasn't much I could do about it since she was an adult and all, so I followed Betsy Lou to the front door. Mrs. Krupke told me she'd made chocolate chip cookies and had a brand new half gallon of milk. Mom was a pretty good cook, but her baking abilities pretty much consisted of taking a pie out of the freezer and putting it in the oven or opening one of those tubes of biscuits like the ones with the fat guy on the label, but Food Basket's own brand. And she forgot to take the biscuits out of the oven most of the time, getting upset when she smelled them burning. I'd say about three quarters of the biscuits we had were a dark brown or black. Ever since Dad got his ulcer, the only milk we had in the house was that 2% stuff that tastes like water. I figured my wanger would still be there after I had some cookies. We went into the house and Betsy Lou had this big smile on her face. It must have been the cookies; you could smell them as soon as you walked through the door. They had this table in the kitchen that had an L-shaped bench that fit in the corner. The table fit in next to it and there was bench, like for a piano, on the other side of the long part. Betsy Lou told me to put my books on the piano bench side and she put hers down on the short part of the L. She told me to sit down on the long part of the L. Mrs. Krupke got her oven mitt and picked up a cookie sheet that was cooling on the top of the stove. Betsy Lou had three plates and she put one in front of me, one next to it and the third in the middle of the table. Mrs. Krupke used a spatula to take the cookies off and put them on the plate in the middle of the table. I could see the steam coming up from them and they smelled delicious. She put the cookie sheet back on the stove and smiled at us. "I'll leave you two alone." She left the room, smiling and looking over her shoulder before she went out the door. Weird. Betsy Lou filled a couple of tall glasses on the counter with milk, put the milk back in the fridge, then put the glasses down next to our plates. She slid in on the bench and sat down next to me, leaving enough room for her mother to come back and sit next to us if she wanted. She pulled a couple of napkins out of this square plastic napkin thing in the middle of the table and handed me one, opening the other and putting it in her lap. I waited to see if she was going to get some tongs or chopsticks or something to pick up the cookies with, but she didn't, so I used my fingers. This snack thing was turning into too big a production for me. Once I took my first bite and washed it down with real milk, all those negative thoughts went away. Mrs. Krupke's cookies are the best, and the milk was cold and fresh. Betsy Lou had exactly the opposite problem that I had. She had about ten different things she wanted to write about and was having trouble coming up with one. I couldn't think of anything. I thought about stealing one of hers, but that wouldn't work. First of all, if I happened to pick the one she finally decided on, we'd both be in trouble. And all the stuff she talked about was girly stuff, anyway. When we finished the plate of cookies and a second glass of milk each, she got up to let me slide out of the bench. I picked up my books and started to leave. "Let me walk you to the door." Like I didn't know my way or something. Jeez, I'd been there hundreds of times, I knew where the front door was. She got there a bit before I did and she stood next to it, her eyes closed, her face shoved forward a bit, making a face kind of like a fish. "Se ya tomorrow," I said as I went out the door and walked over to my house. Mom was disappointed that I'd already had a snack. She had a box of Mr. Chips cookies and had made some root beer Kool Aid. I'd made the mistake of pretending to like it the first time she bought it, pouring it down the sink when she left the room. Since then, she bought it all the time. She had a budget for her groceries and that stuff was a lot cheaper than buying Cokes or A&W. She made me go sit down with her in the kitchen while she drank her tea. Mom didn't like coffee, but she used any excuse she could come up with the have a "nice cup of tea." Kind of like a guy who comes up with reasons to have a beer. Anyway, I had to go over everything we did from the time I left the house till we got back for her. She seemed real interested in what Betsy Lou had done while we were together. I finally got a chance to go to my room. I figured it was too much of a risk to try and sneak a Playboy in with me, so I lay on my bed, with a sock in one hand and my dick in the other. I thought about my favorite Playmate to start, but by the time I was spurting in the sock, I had a picture of Miss Hulbertson, standing at the blackboard with her back to us in my head. ------- Chapter 4 Her name was McGill and she called herself Lil, but everyone knew her as Nancy. Wednesday morning I stopped by Betsy Lou's. She answered the door, all ready to go as soon as I rang the bell. There was more of the same as yesterday as we walked to school. Walking extra close and lots of touching. At one point I moved to the side when she got too close and had to grab her as she almost fell over. I had her in my arms and she looked up at me, then closed her eyes and did that fish thing with her mouth again. I stood her up straight, hands on each arm, just below her shoulders and shook her a bit until she opened her eyes. "Are you OK?" "Yeah." "Well, come one. Quit fooling around. We'll be late." The same bunch of girls was standing near the gate as yesterday when we left. Betsy Lou grabbed onto me like she was ready to fall over and needed to hold onto me for support as we walked past them. Everything went along as usual until lunchtime. I'd just gotten in line with my tray when Nancy Jo Biolofski cut in front of me. Nancy Jo was one of the flock of girls guarding the gate the last two times I went though. "Do you mind if I go first?" "No, I guess not." There were two conflicting things here, based on the way I'd been brought up. You don't cut in front of people, you wait your turn, and you're always courteous to a lady. I wasn't in a hurry, so I let it go by. If it had been a guy, I probably would have said something. Nancy proceeded to ask what I thought of the mac and cheese, should she try the cake, should she get regular or chocolate milk, all kinds of things I had not idea of and could care less about. Lunch was lunch, and you pretty much ate what they had. When we were out of the line, she told me she could never thank me enough and asked if she could have lunch with me. "Sure. Let's go sit over there." "I've got a better place," she said, taking my arm and practically dragging me out of the cafeteria. Nancy Jo was a year ahead of me, so she'd been at Smithtown for a year already. She took me around the building we had Science in and pushed aside some bushes, revealing a patch of grass maybe a yard wide, up against the building, completely hidden from anyone on the other side of the bushes. "Now, isn't this cozy?" "I guess." Once we sat down, I found out all about cozy. Nancy Jo was so close to me that I didn't have the use of my left arm. I was trying to balance my tray on my lap and eat with one hand when I felt a hand on my left leg, just below the edge of the tray. "I hear you've got something real special, Mark." I looked at the tray to see what she was talking about. What I saw was the tray start to slide as her hand made its way up my leg. I grabbed it just in time, but not quick enough to stop some of my milk from slurping over the top of the glass before I grabbed it. I'd just saved my milk when I felt her hand on my dick. The thing expanded like a runaway balloon — one second it was normal, the next it had grown halfway down my thigh. "Ooh, I think I've found it." "Jesus, Nancy. Now look what you did." I was already spurting inside my pants. Nancy kissed me on the cheek. "You can always say you spilled your milk," she giggled as she took off through the bushes, leaving her tray of food on the grass. I don't know that I had something real special, but I do know that what she'd done felt special. Real, real, real special. I knew my hand would never be the same. I tried to pick up both trays, but that just didn't work. I could put one on my hand like a waitress, but would have to pick the other up by the edge, and I knew my wrist would give out and I'd dump it before I got halfway back to the cafeteria. I scooped her mac and cheese onto my plate, put her empty plate under my full one, piled everything onto one tray, then put the other under it and headed back. The first thing I saw when I got back was Nancy Jo sitting with her gaggle of friends, a new tray of food in front of her. She smiled at me and a couple of them pointed at me and the giggling and whispering was worse than the day before. One of them said "Oh, Mark. Did you spill your milk?" I sort of grinned as they all cracked up. Betsy Lou sitting at the table we'd sat at yesterday, an empty space next to her. I walked over to the table and was setting the tray down, ready to step over the bench and sit down when she shot me a look. "What do you want?" "I was going to sit down and eat with you." "Where were you?" "Nancy Jo wanted..." "Hmmm." There was more condemnation in that one syllable than a string of curse words uttered by a sailor would have communicated. I picked up my tray and went over to another empty spot and finished my lunch and half of what Nancy Jo had left before the warning bell rang. There were several people laughing as I made my way over there and they were probably laughing at me, but I didn't pay them any attention. I was trying to figure out what was up with Betsy Lou. I went on to gym class and most of the kids had their gym clothes. Coach sent notes home with about five who didn't, warning their parents that their kids would flunk PE and not be able to graduate if they didn't get the proper clothes quick. Imagine having to stay in junior high forever because your mom didn't buy gym clothes. We played dodge ball and I got nabbed a couple of times. Stocker, the kid who looked like a linebacker, seemed to take real pleasure in trying to kill people with the stupid ball, and I got a big red circle on the bottom left part of my back where he got me. Damn near knocked me off my feet. He probably pulled wings off flies and cooked ants with a magnifying glass, too. I'd heard he once tied a cherry bomb to a toad and stuck a straw up its butt, filled it with air, lit the cherry bomb and threw it in the pond. The toad couldn't dive underwater because it was full of air and was splattered all over the place when the cherry bomb went off. I don't know if that was true or an urban legend. But I wouldn't put it past him. Who knows, if I'd been turned around the other way when I went in the shower, Weinstein might have made some comment about the red spot on my back. But I happened to be facing him and he came up with the "schlong" comment. I heard it, but I didn't pay any attention. Probably because I didn't know what a schlong was at the time. My jeans had dried out sometime during gym class but my underwear were still wet. I decided to wear my jack strap until I got home. Senora Lopez handed out books that were filled with drawings of all kinds of people wearing wearing sombreros, long skirts and some with vests decorated with silver, carrying musical instruments. I found out what a gitter was. Kind of like a guitar only with a big round bottom. We went over the chapter that showed the two teenagers in the line for lunch. They were having albondigas. I'll tell you, there weren't any kids dressed like those two in our cafeteria. And I hadn't seen anything like albondigas, either. Senora Lopez wanted to institute a policy where Spanish was the only language spoken in her classroom. It didn't take long for her to realize that nobody else would say anything and we all looked real stupid when she asked us a question, so she backed off and promised we'd all be talking just Spanish before the end of the semester. Senora Lopez had unrealistic hopes in my opinion. Miss Hulbertson had allowed us to sit wherever we wanted the day before but told us to take care because we'd be stuck in the same seats for the rest of the year. Betsy Lou was already in her seat when I say down. I understood the word "frigid" when I tried to say hello. She managed to look down, look away from me and look at me hard enough to burn a hole through my chest all at the same time before she looked away without saying anything. I figured that whatever it was that had been bothering her the past couple of days must have gotten worse. I spent the rest of the day staring at Miss Hulbertson. Not quite drooling, but not far from it, either. I noticed my hand on my leg at one point, my hard dick underneath it. I had enough control to move my hand back to my desk, though I really felt like moving it up and down my leg. I also wondered what it would be like to have Miss Hulbertson's hand where mine had just been. I felt something like an arrow piercing my side and looked over to see Betsy Lou turning away from me. Walking home was the weirdest thing I ever did. Betsy Lou wouldn't say a word to me but would make that "Hmmm" sound if I even thought of going on by myself. She grabbed my arm a little more forcefully when we passed the covey of girls at the gate and held on until they were out of sight. When we got to her house, Mrs. Krupke was out on the stoop. "I've got cake, today, Mark." "Mark has homework, Mom." I didn't have any homework, something that surprised the heck out of me after having so much on the first day of school. But, even though her words seemed to be directed at her mother, they were clearly an order directed at me, telling me there would be no cake today. I was very confused as I went up the block to my house. ------- Chapter 5 I was in my English class and Miss Hulbertson was passing out the papers we'd written as homework the first day of school, commenting on what she liked about some and what needed to be improved with others. She already knew each person by name and could tell each one something specific about his or her paper. She had only one paper left when she came over to me. "Oh, Mark, I can't tell you how impressed I was with your paper about the Empire State Building. You made it seem so real, so tall, so firm, so powerful. So much like your schlong. I can't stand it anymore. Please let me see it." She put the paper on my desk and I saw the A+++ on it as she knelt next to me, swinging me around on my chair so that my legs were out in the aisle. I could see most of her breasts where the top four buttons of her blouse were undone. There was no bra to block the view, and I saw her proud nipples standing at attention, trying to push through the rest of the blouse as she leaned forward, unzipping my pants. She undid the button above the now unzipped zipper and folded both flaps to the side. I must have forgotten to wear underpants because there I was, for her and all around to see, standing at attention, pointing at the ceiling. I heard all 25 people in the classroom go "Aaahhh," and looked up to see that they were all gathered in a half circle, watching her every move as if it was a lecture and they were going to be tested on it. A couple of the girls had their hands to their mouths; a couple applauded. She lay one hand underneath it, pulling it away from my groin. "It's so big, Mark. I can't hold it in just one hand." She wrapped her second hand on the other side, then slowly moved both hands up and down, as one. It felt so good. "I can't help it. I have to taste it." Still holding it in two hands, she held it straight up and leaned over. I felt her warm breath as she got close, then saw her mouth open, wider than I could imagine, like a snake when it takes a whole egg in its mouth. I felt the warmth of her breath and then the warmth of her body heat as her mouth came over the end of my cock. I felt the liquid warmth of her tongue as it caressed the underside of the crown. I came, my hips flailing spastically, jetting spurt after spurt of my juices. I felt them dripping on my lower stomach and groin. I opened my eyes, sat up and saw the tented blankets as the last two spurts shot into them. I'd heard of wet dreams before but had never experienced one. It had seemed so real while it was happening. The concept of someone taking me in their mouth was completely new to me and most likely would have been repulsive if someone had suggested it. But it was so natural and so desirable in my dream. And, though I shot off before I got a chance to experience it in that dream, I knew just how it would feel to be in someone's mouth, and I wanted to experience that feeling for real. Wednesday afternoon, I'd come home after my weird walk with Betsy Lou. I'd tried to figure out what was going on with her for about five minutes before my head started hurting and I gave up. It was Mom's shopping day with Mrs. Fish, so I was sitting at the kitchen table, eating some Mr. Chips and sipping cola flavored Kool Aid while going over the day. Something had happened in gym class that I hadn't understood. I thought about it and remembered. Weinstein had said something. What was that word? Oh, yeah. Schlong. I got my student dictionary and looked it up. I tried shlong, shclong and schlong, even chlong... No luck. Mom and Dad had a big dictionary in the bookcase in the living room. The thing was about 4" thick and weighed a ton. I was able to find schlong. It was a Yiddish word and it was slang for a male sexual organ. That didn't do me a whole lot of good. I thought Weinstein was Jewish and I knew they spoke Yiddish, so I knew I was on the right trail. Organ threw me a couple of curves. I ruled out the musical instrument right away, but got stuck on a bunch of medical terms before I figured that they were talking about stomachs, lungs, kidneys and stuff like that. They didn't seem to be what I was looking for. Of course, they couldn't come right out and say they were talking about stomachs and all the other stuff. No, they used medical terms, and Latin words, and I had to look up about 5 or 6 words before I figured out that's what they meant. I wasn't positive, so I looked up stomach and lung and organ was in both definitions. Sexual threw me for some more loops until I saw Sexual Organ in bold black letters near the end of the definitions. And they couldn't say what the hell they were talking about there, either. Something about mucous membranes. It finally sent me to penis. I knew what that was. There were a bunch of slang terms near the end of that definition, and there it was, plain as day — schlong. Why the heck couldn't they just come out and say it was a dick? By the time I'd finished my research project, it was time for dinner. Mom asked how things were going with Betsy Lou and I told her she'd been acting weird and explained some of the things she'd done over the past couple of days. She wiped her mouth with her napkin a lot more than usual and seemed to be paying a lot of attention to her plate, keeping her head down. Dad choked on his water and started coughing once. All of a sudden, my parents were interested in Betsy Lou. I wondered why nobody had seemed to be that interested for the past five years. Mom told me she wanted to start taking showers every day now that I was in junior high. When I told her I'd already showered in PE, she made me lift my arms and she sniffed under them and told me I was OK tonight, but if I did any running or played basketball or anything after I got home, that I was supposed to shower. She also gave me some deodorant she picked up for me at the store. It was this spray stuff and the cloud smelled worse than the sweat did in the first place. When I tried it, I decided it would be the last thing I'd do before I left the bathroom. The stuff was almost as bad as that hairspray that made me gag if I was near Mom when she used it. I wondered if playing with myself would be enough activity to make a shower necessary and realized that I hadn't even thought about that this afternoon, passing up a golden opportunity to check out the Playboys with Mom at the store. Looking at the dictionary had seemed more important than looking at pictures of naked women. Actually, I hadn't even thought about relative importance since I didn't consider the Playboys once I got going on my search. I watched a little TV and went to bed early. As I lay there, I took myself in hand as I usually do when I go to bed. After my experience with Nancy Jo, it lost a lot of its desirability. I didn't think I'd give it up, it just wasn't that important tonight. I fell asleep without doing anything and the next thing I knew, I had my experience with Miss Hulbertson. I was familiar with the term "religious experience." I don't think that's what they were thinking about but it sure fit the definition. It was a little after 3 when I woke up, spurting all over myself. I cleaned up as best I could. It took some time for me to get back to sleep and it was a restless sleep, most of it spent dreaming about Nancy Jo, Miss Hulbertson, and for some reason, Betsy Lou, leaning into me and doing that weird fish thing. The last thing I remember before my alarm went off is Betsy Lou looking at me and saying "Hmmm." Dad was sitting at the kitchen table when I came in for breakfast, dressed in his white shirt and tie, smelling faintly of Old Spice. He always got all ready for work except for the suit jacket then put that on just before he went out the door. He has this big ceramic mug that holds two normal cups of coffee. Mom makes his coffee in a small coffee pot that she puts on the stove and lets it bubble for five or ten minutes. It makes just enough to fill his mug. Dad had his bowl of Rice Krispies in front of him. I've seen him eat breakfast just about every day of my life, and he's always eaten out of his oversized white bowl. He puts the bowl on the counter, next to the sink, then fills it a little over halfway with cereal and puts the cereal away. Then he pours milk on top of the Rice Krispies until it's almost ready to overflow. He puts the milk on the table and takes the bowl over to the table. I've never seen him spill a drop, even though the milk is almost kissing the top of the bowl. He sits down and pulls the sugar bowl over to him and spoons almost half a bowl on his cereal. Dad was rushed to the hospital one day a couple of years ago. At first they thought it might be appendicitis but it turned out he had a duodenal ulcer. That's right at the duodenum, where the stomach empties into the intestines. When it flares up and blocks the flow of stuff down there, I guess it can be pretty gruesome. Dad was told to knock off the coffee or at least reduce his intake, and no whole milk. Mom had the new coffee pot and his big mug the day he came home from the hospital and there was 2% milk in the refrigerator. He seemed OK about the coffee, but I thought he was going to cry when he sat down and started eating his cereal. He never said a word about the change, at least where I could hear it. But I could tell it was as if he'd lost his best friend or an arm or something. He still ate his cereal every morning, but the peaceful look he used to get while doing it wasn't so peaceful after that. I never got involved in Mom and Dad's finances. I know that he put his check in the bank every Friday and would bring home some cash. He always seemed to have money for gas or the hardware store in his wallet whenever he needed it. There were usually a few bills in there, never a wad of money. I never saw money change hands between them but I know Mom paid cash at the grocery store. They took pride in never being late for the house payment, insurance or any of the utilities. If there was a special expense, like the clarinet we had to rent in sixth grade or the fees for little league, it was always discussed. On those two, they brought me into the discussion. The gist of it was, they wanted to make sure I was going to stick with whatever it was and not have them waste money on something I was going to quit within a week. They didn't begrudge me the money, but they weren't willing to throw it away, either. When I found out that Little League wasn't all I'd thought it would be, they told me I'd agreed to it and I was going to finish out the season. That was the end of that. Like I said, Mom paid cash when Mrs. Fish took her shopping. And she mentioned on several occasions that she'd skimped on one thing so she could buy something else that week. Like I might ask if there was any ice cream and she tell me that she didn't have enough money for ice cream this week because she'd gotten a nice roast for Sunday. She wasn't complaining, mind you. She had a limited amount of money and she juggled it so it would work. I remember the day she decided to save on the Rice Krispies. Food Basket had their own brand of cereal. Actually, they had two. They had one that came in big plastic bags and was on the bottom shelf. They had another that was called Rice Crisps or something similar. I think 90% of the big bags were paid for with food stamps. I've always wondered if Mom and Dad would still be married it she'd gotten those. No, she got the others. Dad poured his coffee, put his bowl on the counter and started looking for his Rice Krispies. He asked her where she put them. "Oh, Honey, I got these," she said, pulling the box of the store brand out of the cabinet. Dad took one look at the box, then looked over at the clock. "I'm going to be late." He went into the bedroom, put on his suit coat and went out the door. His coffee sat on the table, untouched. And Mom stood by the door in the same condition. Every morning in my life, when he left through the front door, my mother stood next to it and opened it for him. The last thing he did before he went to work was kiss her. It was also the first thing he did when he got home. That day he just went out the door and said "I'll see you after work." When Dad had his ulcer attack, it was Sunday, after a big lamb dinner. Mom called the doctor and he sent an ambulance over to the house. They took him to the hospital. This was back in the days that the ambulance was there to get the patient to hospital as quickly as possible, not to give lifts to hysterical family members. They took their job seriously and if you decided to try and beat an ambulance through the intersection, you'd most likely end up with a damaged car and the big Cadillac ambulance would be three blocks away before you crawled out the window. They didn't slow down to 1 or 2 miles an hour at every intersection. Back then the life of the person in the back took priority over the inconvenience of the person too busy talking on his cell phone to pull over to the side. When Mom described what was happening over the phone, Dr. Merrill told her it sounded like appendicitis and he hoped they could get him to the hospital on time. Mom did what she needed to to get him off in the ambulance but she was scared to death. When they were gone and the siren was fading in the distance, she sat down on the couch and cried. It was the only time I ever saw my mother cry, and I felt completely helpless. I sat down next to her and she held on as if she was afraid she was going to lose me, too. There were only two other times I saw her cry like that. When my father had his heart attack and died next to her while they were sleeping, she cried after they wheeled him out the door, a sheet covering his face. She also cried the day he left without eating breakfast, not kissing her as he went out the door to work. I never heard one word said about the cereal. The next morning, Dad reached into the cabinet, took out a new box of Rice Krispies and ate breakfast as if nothing had ever happened. I know Mrs. Fish was visiting her daughter in the hospital with her new baby, so Mom didn't get a ride from her. Maybe she walked the five mile round trip to the store herself. She never told me and I never asked. I had to eat that whole box of Rice Crisps myself over the next couple of weeks. The walk to school on Thursday was strange, to say the least. Betsy Lou kept her distance but made it very apparent that I was to walk with her and would not be allowed to wander off on my own. It was as if she had a four foot pole attached to a ring in my nose, keeping me away while not letting me get away from her. As soon as we rounded the corner and saw the herd of women on the other side of the gate, she grabbed my arm, pulling me into her chest, almost digging into my flesh with her desperate grip. I remember being taught to say "Good Morning, Mrs. Goldsmith," as a class in the first grade. She'd say "Good Morning, Class," and then we'd answer, usually one or two people starting, then the rest of us joining in. As we passed through the gate, the herd said "Hi, Schlong," and I thought of first grade as Nancy Jo started the greeting and was joined by the rest of the girls. Betsy Lou's grip got tight as soon as the first syllable was out of Nancy Jo's mouth, got tighter still as the rest of them joined in, and she seemed like she was trying to rip my arm off as I mumbled "Hi" back to them. We were almost out of sight when I heard Betsy Lou's "Hmmm." She released my arm when we could no longer be seen, and it was back to the pole through the nose thing. We each went to our lockers, then she disappeared to go to her first class. ------- Chapter 6 Things went about the same as the last few days. Betsy Lou was acting real weird in Science. She made it clear she didn't want to talk to me but that I couldn't pay attention to anyone else. I heard the dreaded "Hmmm" several times. I didn't even get a chance to get in line for lunch before Nancy Jo had her arm wrapped in mine and practically dragged me to the far side of the Science building. She pushed me through the bushes and I saw Becky Sue Schlabinksi sitting up against the building with a big smile on her face. I turned to ask Nancy Jo what was going on, only to see her walking away. Becky Sue is a year older than me. She lives in my neighborhood but hasn't ever had anything to do with me. She's always with older guys, and I've seen her scrunched up against lots of them in their cars, close like Nancy Jo had been yesterday. I said something about her one night when we were all in the kitchen for dinner and Mom said "Stay away from her, she's boy crazy." Dad said, "And that's a bad thing?" with a crooked smile on his face. Mom turned red and hit him on the arm and said "Stop it," but there was something going on between them. She was all cutesy and giggly and he was kind of pretending to strut around all during dinner. I got roped into doing the dishes because they remembered something they needed to discuss in their room. Becky Sue was larger than life. She had brown hair when we were in elementary school, but now it was blond and it was big. Something else was big about her, too. Betsy Lou had told me she that Becky Sue put Kleenex in her top when we were walking to fifth grade one day. I wondered why anyone would do that, but didn't think much about it. I figured maybe she didn't have pockets. Looking at her now, it was obvious there weren't any Kleenex involved. He top was unbuttoned enough so I could see the bra that wasn't completely covering what was inside. There was a lot to not cover. Part of that was because Becky Sue was what my mom would call "chunky." Not really fat, but some exercise wouldn't kill her. "Hey Mark, I hear you've got something big in your pants." "I guess." Like I said, I'd never had any chance or reason to compare what I had with anyone else's. Maybe I should look around a bit in gym class. I'd have to do it kind of hidden, though. The last thing I needed was a bunch of guys calling me a homo. I looked down just in time to see Becky Sue pull my zipper down and take out my pecker. "Ooh! So big." She was playing with it, turning it over, examining it. My first thought was she was playing with it like it was a hamster or a puppy, but there's no way a live animal would hold still for that. She was squeezing and rotating, pulling and prodding. And I was responding. I grew and got way too big for one of her hands to hold. It also got harder for her to move around, so she started pumping it with both hands. I thought that was as good as it got until she slid one of her hands inside my fly and started moving my balls around in her hand. At first I pulled back a bit, afraid she was going to hurt me. She must have known what she was doing though, because it did anything but hurt. It wasn't long before I was spurting all over the bushes. At least I didn't mess up my pants this time. I couldn't help it. She was leaning over a bit, watching me shoot off, oohing and ahhing about how much and how far, so I bent over and stuck my finger in her bra to pull it out to see the rest of her tits. She let go of me, slapped my hand and said, "What kind of a girl do you think I am?" She got up and stalked off, real mad. I shook off my prick and put it away. I was going to have to figure out this playing around stuff. How come it was OK for her to reach inside my pants and play with me but not for me to look at her titties? One thing I noticed was that it had taken longer today to make me shoot than it had with Nancy Jo's hand on top of my pants yesterday. And having Becky Sue's hands actually holding it was a lot better than when my pants were in the way. Shooting off is great, but feeling her playing with it was good, too. Watching her do it wasn't bad, either. I guess I was real surprised with Nancy Jo and was more used to it today. But not so used to it that I was tired of it. I didn't think I'd ever get that used to it. I went back to the cafeteria and got my lunch. It just took one look at Betsy Lou for me to decide not to even try and sit next to her. I got the usual giggles when I walked past the swarm of girls. When I got to gym class, Stocker was talking to a couple of his buddies. They all turned and grinned as I went to my locker. I looked back when I was changing and he had his hands with the fingers laced together, moving them up and down, then he moved them both half a foot in front of his chest, sort of cupped, the palms pointing at his chest. When he did that, all three of them cracked up. I did some looking around and realized that most of the guys were about as big as I'd been in fourth grade. Weinstein was the only other guy I saw who had hair down there. Senora Lopez spent the whole period talking about Spanish dances. It's more than Mexico and Spain, you know. She dragged me around for a few minutes when she was demonstrating the Rumba. At least I didn't have to hold a rose in my teeth like Joshua did when she was doing the Tango. Excuse me. I mean Jose, not Joshua. She did this swishy dance with castanets that was actually kind of neat. She passed around pictures of women dancing with these long, multicolored dresses with petticoats under them that look pretty good. It was better than learning about albondigas, that's for sure. The women all wore this dark red lipstick. When they were passed to me and I got a chance to look at them, I got this picture of a red ring around my cock. Miss Hulbertson had her hair done up in a pony tail. Her hair is blond, not red like my favorite Playmate's, but the way it was sticking out from behind her head made me think of her. When she stood sort of sideways, writing on the blackboard, it was just like Surrey was up there. She sort of sloshed it back and forth with her butt pointing back at me and her one tit outlined in her tight blouse and I got real hard. I guess Betsy Lou was feeling worse today because she lay down on her desk facing me, her face was red and she was breathing pretty fast. Betsy Lou was weird again on the walk home. The bevy of girls at the gate was larger today, and they all said "Hi, Schlong" as a team, with extra comments such as "I'm next," "Got something for me?" and "Hubba, Hubba" thrown in. It's a wonder Betsy Lou didn't break my arm the way she grabbed onto it. A soon as we rounded the corner so they couldn't see us anymore, she said "Hmmm," then let go and resumed her four foot tether. I walked about a half a block, then stopped. She continued a few steps and then stopped as if she really did have a leash and got yanked back. "Mark. Come on." "No." Definitely not what she was expecting. "What do you mean, 'No'?" "You won't talk to me, you treat me like I peed on your rug or something; I would have more conversation if I walked by myself." "Well, what do you expect me to do?" "You can do whatever you want. But I don't see why you have to drag me into the middle of it. What's with you? Are you going through some girl thing or something? You sure used to be a lot nicer." You'd have thought I spanked her or something. She looked like she was trying to keep a straight face, but her lip started to quiver and then her eyes and her nose scrunched up and then she started to sniff and shake and then the tears and the sobs started. She covered her eyes with her hands, then took off running towards home. Of course, she had to drop her books so she could cover her eyes, so I ended up carrying twice as many books home. I knocked on the door and Mrs. Krupke answered. She held the door so I couldn't see in, and talked real formal to me — "Hello, Mark," and "Thank You." Kind of short and curt. Like I did something to her daughter or something. I went home and Mom asked me what I did to Betsy Lou. Jeez. All I did was stop walking. She had some store brand graham crackers and some lemon lime Kool Aid she said was just like 7-Up, but I told her I wasn't hungry, and went to my room. I knew I should do homework, but I lay down on my bed and tried to figure out women. First all these girls want to make me shoot. But if I try to do anything like look inside Becky Sue's bra, I get yelled at. And when I told Betsy Lou she used to be nice, she acted like I told her her puppy had gotten run over. The next thing I knew, Mom was shaking me and telling me it was time for dinner. We had meat loaf with mashed potatoes and gravy. Mom's meat loaf is real good. Mom and Dad were both real quiet throughout dinner, though. After we were done, Dad told me to come into the living room with him. He talked about women and how you had to be careful about their feelings and how sometimes they got upset. I pretty much knew everything he was saying already. I just didn't know what kinds of things set them off. Mom was in the kitchen cleaning up, but I saw her watching us from the doorway a couple of times with a real serious look on her face. I left to go do my homework, still not knowing what Betsy Lou's problem was. The next day was weird. I figured I'd just walk to school by myself. I just got past Betsy Lou's when she ran up to me. "Hey Mark. You forgot me." She had her books in her left arm and wrapped her right arm around my left and leaned against me. "Are you better today?" "I'm fine." "What was wrong with you?" "You should know." I just said "Oh." I knew enough about women to know that denying you know something they say you do is suicide. About a block later, she said, "So, are you going to stop?" "Stop what?" "You know. What you're doing during lunch." "I'm not doing anything. They do what they want but get mad when I try to do something." She let go of me and stopped. "Oh, Mark, you are impossible." "Well, if you don't like it, you can come in the bushes with me." "GOD! You are such a PIG!" She just stood there, stiff. "Go on. Get away from me." Jeez. I walked the rest of the way to school, wondering if I'd ever understand women. ------- Chapter 7 The rest of the way to school was just plain weird. Betsy Lou was always back where I could see her, almost like she was afraid she'd get lost if I got out of her sight. I knew she was watching me but every time I turned around, she was looking someplace else. The assemblage at the gate seemed larger today and they had that "Hi, Schlong" thing down pat. Just about everyone I passed on the way to my locker said something to me, too. Guys and girls. That was new. We were in different classes for the first two periods so things went pretty good until Science. Mr. Hendrix passed out a kind of a homemade book. It was about 20 Xeroxed pages of Science experiments stapled together and he said that's what we were going to work on till Christmas vacation. There was all kinds of neat stuff; Bunsen burners, chemicals, physics stuff, you name it. The only problem was that he also assigned everyone a partner for all the experiments. You guessed it, Betsy Lou was my science partner. Three or four days ago, it would have been perfect. Like I said, we'd been best buddies for five years and this was the kind of thing we'd have done on our own if we could get our hands on the stuff to do it with and knew what we were doing. Today it was like taking a cat and a dog and tying their tails together. The Science classroom had these big long counters along the back and side walls, the whole length except for where the door was in the back. There were 8" partitions set up every four feet or so that could be moved around or taken down. Under the counters were cupboards were supplies were kept. All of them had whatever was needed for the first week's experiments. Mr. Hansen said a couple of us could earn extra credit by coming in for two or three hours on a Saturday and storing the stuff for the following week. Each team got their own workstation that included one of the four foot sections with one cupboard below it and one stool in front. Most of the time, at least one of the students needed to be standing in front of the counter, mixing chemicals or burning Bunsens or whatever. The stool was for the person not doing the stuff at the counter. Betsy Lou sat down as soon as we got our workstation. She wasn't silent but she would only talk to answer questions. The answers were all short. Any time I asked what she wanted to do, her answer was "I don't care" or "Whatever you want" or something like that. There was none of the usual excitement, no "Let's try this" kind of thing she'd usually come up with. I decided if she wanted to act that way, it was her problem and I wasn't going to let it ruin my day. I just opened the cabinet and took out the box labeled "Experiments 1-6" and put it up on the counter. It had a little metal stand with six test tubes in it, sort of like a drill holder my Dad has only all the test tubes were the same size and there weren't any little ones missing and none of the tips were broke off. There was another stand that you could put one of the tubes in so you could work with it and not mess up any of the others. There were some tong things that had a spring and held onto one of the test tubes real good until you squeezed them and then it slid out. I knew there were some klutzes in the class who would end up turning a test tube upside down but at least it would be tougher to drop than if you just used your fingers. There were two dozen or so little bottles with chemicals in them. A few were a liquid, kind of like water, with a symbol on them like a pirate flag. I knew it meant poison but Mr. Hendrix made sure to announce that that's what it did mean and that it wasn't pirate rum so don't try to drink it. Betsy Lou actually laughed out loud when he said that until she caught herself and got all serious again. I didn't because I knew some of the kids in that class would have thought exactly that or would dare each other to drink some. The other chemicals were mostly white powders or sort of clear crystal stuff, like the Epsom Salts Mom uses sometimes when I twist my ankle. I don't know that they do any good, but Mom seems to get a thrill out of making me sit in a tub of water hot enough to burn my skin off if I happen to damage myself. That and cod liver oil are her favorite ways of keeping me healthy. I don't know about the medical part of it but the fear is plenty to make me think twice about being sick. The experiments were kind of neat. Most started out with half a test tube of distilled water and then chemicals were added to it. It was all about following directions. Using the right chemicals, measuring them correctly, putting them together in the right order, that kind of thing. What was cool about it is the instructions didn't say what was supposed to happen. We could have been building a bomb, for all we knew. One of the tricks was translating the instructions to the bottles. The instruction would say something like "Hydrogen Hydro Chloride" and the bottle said "HCL". There was a Periodic Chart folded up in the box but it still took some work. Plus, all the measurements were in grams and milliliters and such. I was just adding the last chemical on the first experiment when I heard an "Ooooh!" from across the room. I turned around and saw Betsy Lou swivel on her stool to see what it was about. I couldn't see anything so I turned back to the table and made my own "Oooh!" The liquid in the test tube was the most blue blue I'd ever seen. Of course, my body was blocking the test tube and Betsy Lou's curiosity was bigger than her pissed off-ed-ness and she said, "What is it, Mark?" I moved out of the way and let her look. "I wanna do one." I didn't use the stool; I just stood over to the side a bit and watched her work. I had an idea that each of these experiments was going to give us a different color. That would make it pretty easy to grade. I heard some of the other students complaining. Things like "How come theirs is blue and ours is all black?" The one I'd made had been moved to the far left position of the large stand and she put a fresh test tube in front of her. I noticed right off that she was doing it differently than I had. "Betsy Lou, you've got to level the spoonfuls off or it isn't going to work." "I know my way around the kitchen, Mark. This will work out just fine." I decided not to point out that we weren't in her kitchen. She figured it out for herself a couple of minutes later. The mixture in her test tube turned an awful muddy gray color and it was bubbling a bit, putting off a god awful smell. Mr. Hendrix looked like he'd been waiting for this to happen. He didn't say anything to us but he came over and stood right next to Betsy Lou. "People, chemistry is an exact science. If you follow the instructions in front of you exactly, you will be happy with the results. If you don't... well, I don't have to clean it up." He reinforced my idea by saying, "If you do follow the instructions, I'll be able to tell. Like this." He picked up the stand with my blue test tube in it and held it out in front of him. I decided saying something to Betsy Lou would not be in my best interests so I asked Mr. Hansen if it was OK to use the sink to clean out the test tube. He assured me that none of the chemicals we were using were harmful and smiled. Betsy Lou didn't give me a chance to do anything. She grabbed the holder with the vile test tube in it and went over to one of the two sinks set up in the back corners of the room. I picked up a brush that was designed for cleaning test tubes. I held it out to Betsy Lou when I got over to her and she said, "What's that for, you perv... Oh." She took the brush from me and scrubbed the inside of the tube she'd already rinsed out. "What did you think?" "It looked like a tampon when you came over." "Oh. Sorry about that." It just seemed I should be sorry; I had no idea what a tampon was. Another word I was going to have to look up in the big dictionary when I got home. We went back to our station and Betsy Lou started the experiment over again. She didn't say anything to me but she was being very careful using this thing like a popsicle stick, only bigger, like the one the doctor puts in your mouth, scraping all the measurements so they were level. This time she ended up with a clear mixture. It wasn't quite like water; you could see there was something mixed in with it. There just wasn't any color to it. "What did I do wrong, Mark?" I just pointed to the line at the bottom of the experiment. There was a space between the list of ingredients and that line, so I'm sure she wasn't the only one who ignored it. She read it, said, "Oh." and turned on the gas to the Bunsen burner. I gave her the little clicker thing that sparked and she lit it. She used those tong things and held it in the flame, rotating it slowly as we both watched it turn red. Red like Dorothy's slippers. We both knew we'd done this one right. Betsy Lou turned off the burner and put the tube back in the big holder, next to the blue one. Then she surprised the heck out of me. She turned to me, scrunched up against me, wrapping her arms around me and kissed me. Not a peck on the cheek. This was a real kiss. The kind my parents send me out of the room for when they show it on TV. It was kind of wet. Not yucky wet, just... wet. We'd seen each other naked plenty of times before when we were skinny dipping and changing and stuff but this was more intimate than anything we'd done before. I heard someone clearing their throat and Betsy Lou backed off. She looked kind of breathless, just like I was. Mr. Hendrix smiled at us and said, "Are you two talking to each other again?" Betsy Lou was looking at the floor and looked redder than normal. I didn't think the experiment had anything to do with it, either. She sort of mumbled, "Yes." "All right, then. It's a good thing I made you two work with each other. Now, get going. I want at least two more vials out of you two today." Things were pretty much back to normal for the rest of the day. Betsy Lou walked through the lunch line with me, her right arm through my left the whole time we were in line. It made putting stuff on my tray tougher than normal but I wasn't about to tell her to let go of my arm, especially after she snarled at Nancy Jo Biolofski when she tried to take me out to the bushes next to the Science building again. Betsy Lou sat so close to me I wouldn't have been able to move my left arm even if she hadn't kept holding onto my hand. That's OK, there wasn't anything on my tray I needed to cut with a knife or anything. She made no effort to pretend she wasn't staring at me in English and she had this goofy look on her face for the whole class. I paid attention but made sure I didn't pay too much attention to Miss Hulbertson. She was waiting at my locker when it was time to go home and she kept her hand in mine the whole way. When we passed the throng of girls at the gate on the way out, she just held on a little tighter and didn't say a word, even when they said, "Hi, Schlong," and all of them lifted there tops to show their bras. When Alma Heinrich also pulled up her bra to show me her titties, she finally came out with her "Hmmm," but it was aimed at Alma instead of me. She raised her head and we walked past them. A block later, she opened a couple of buttons on her top and I could see the white material underneath. She had that goofy smile the whole way home. Mrs. Krupke opened the door when we go to the steps, smiling and wiping her hands on her apron. "It's good to see you Mark. I've got a yummy pie I took out of the oven a half hour ago that should be cool enough to eat." "Mark and I are going in my room for a while, Mom. We may have some pie later." She looked a little confused, then smiled. "Whatever you say, Dear." Betsy Lou practically dragged me down the hall to her bedroom. Once we were inside, she shut the door and locked it. I hadn't been in there for a month or two, but we'd played many a game of Parcheesi or Monopoly in this room over the years. She pushed some stuffed animals to the far side of the bed and said, "Sit down, Mark." I sat, wondering what was going to happen next. She hadn't said anything bad since that kiss but she hadn't said anything good, either. She really hadn't said much of anything. "What did you think of those girls lifting their tops on the way home?" "Uuhhh... I uuhhh..." "You liked it, didn't you?" "Well, yeah..." "You said this morning that none of them let you do anything. Is that true?" "Yeah." She stood there, her legs a bit apart, her hands on her hips and I figured I was going to get yelled at. And then she surprised the heck out of me. She did that thing only girls know how to do, crossing her arms in front of her, grabbing the hem of her shirt and lifting it up and off in one swift motion. She shook her head to unmuss her hair a bit and tossed the shirt onto the desk against the wall. Once again, she stood with her hands on her hips, looking right at me. Her breathing was a bit faster than normal and her chest was pinker than it usually is, making the freckles stand out. Her bra was pure white with a little bow between the cups. There was definitely something there. Oh, not like my Playmate or even Miss Hulbertson, but she had real breasts inside it, maybe the size of lemons. Her voice was quiet. "Do you like what you see in this room?" I gulped and my voice squeaked. "Yes." "If you leave those other girls alone you can do things with me, Mark." She held her breasts in her hands. "You can see these and touch them and kiss them. You can see and touch and kiss all of me. And I'll do the same to you, too. Just don't go next to the Science Building and you can have it all. Would you like that?" I didn't trust my voice; I just nodded my head. She walked up to me and held my head in her hands, which put my face up against her bra. I put my hands around her, just a little above her waist. "Undo my bra, Mark." I don't think it took hours, it just seemed like it. I decided there had to be some trick to undoing them and resolved to figure it out. Betsy Lou was patient, cradling my head to her bosom the whole time. I finally got it undone and she said, "I love you so much, Mark," then stepped back and bent forward a little, letting it slide down her arms. She tossed it on top of the shirt, then moved closer to me. "You can touch them, Mark." Her breasts were more beautiful than anything I'd ever seen in Playboy. My hands would cover them completely, no problem. Kind of pointy, nothing extra to sag, her nipples sticking out proudly, surrounded be by pink circles, about the size of a half dollar. The circles looked like they had little bumps all over them. I reached up and they fit my hands like they were made for them, the stiff nipples pushing into the palms. I worshiped them with my hands, gently feeling the textures, the weight, the everything. "It's OK, Mark. I'm not going to break. Kiss them." I let go and put my arms around her, pulling her into me like before, nuzzling my face to them as she held my head in her arms. She sagged a bit, like she was loose or having trouble standing up and I held her a little tighter. I took her right nipple between my lips and she pulled me closer and groaned. The stuffed animals all ended up on the floor and we both lay on the bed. I kissed Betsy Lou's tits and I kissed Betsy Lou while she kissed me back. That was plenty for us that first day. I don't think either one of us touched the other below the waist; we didn't even think about it. When we finally left her room, her parents were in the living room, watching TV. Mrs. Krupke got up and served us dinner she'd kept warm in the stove. She smiled the whole time, happy that her daughter was happy. It was almost 9:00 when I got home. My parents didn't say anything, just smiled and said they were happy Betsy Lou and I were getting along all right now. Betsy Lou and I went together exclusively, all the way through Jr. High and the first year of High School. Then Officer Krupke got an offer he couldn't refuse and they moved to Washington D.C. In that three years, Betsy Lou gave me all the things she offered me that first day in her room. She learned how to open her mouth wide enough to take the head of my schlong inside, something she had to really practice to do without pain. I returned the favor and we both became expert at using our mouths on each other. I guess you could say we were both technically virgins when I watched them drive away that summer, Betsy Lou looking out the back window at me, crying her eyes out. We'd planned on having intercourse at some point but it wasn't important enough to hurt her before she grew enough to handle me. The next year I picked up where I'd left off, only it wasn't behind the Science Building. It was in cars, at girls' houses, just about everywhere two of us could be alone. But that's another story. ------- The End ------- Posted: 2006-11-03 Last Modified: 2007-07-20 / 12:05:11 am ------- http://storiesonline.net/ -------